Money Snake
by rori-mori
Summary: When his parents left him nothing after they died, Harry turns to stripping as a source of income. But money is still tight, so what does he do when he finds an advertisement for a docile and pretty sub that a certain dom is looking for? He messages the dom of course. (Tomarry, AU, AH, mature themes)
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: Decided to write some tomarry, it's alternate universe and all human. Other chapters will be longer than the first. Inspired by The Wolf of Wall Street, Casino, and Fifty Shades of Grey. I actually didn't like Fifty Shade of Grey but gosh it's a fresh idea.

Some bdsm/kink play, unsettling things that border on abuse, M rated scenes. Substance abuse mentions. Might make some readers uncomfortable. The wolf of wall street and Casino gave me a lot of help with this story.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any other books, websites, or merchandise connected to the series, besides this fanfiction.

* * *

 **Money Snake**

 _Username: SS72_

 _I am: Male, Dom, Generous, 29 yrs, brown hair, brown eyes, athletic, 5'11_

 _Looking for: Sub, bdsm, exclusive relationship_

It was the 'generous' part of this advertisement that got Harry hooked. Generous. Codename for 'rich and will pay you at least five hundred'. Codename for 'I'm a sugar daddy'. Harry felt as though this wasn't really the most honorable way to get money, but being three months behind on rent and on his last ten bucks until the cheques come out two weeks from now, his options were limited. So, he clicked 'interested'.

He leans back into his bed, waiting for a reply. Glanced at the dishes in the corner that need washing, knowing he wouldn't do them, knowing there's a lot of things he wouldn't do. He was kind of a failure, in reality, being a stripper, trying to make money in what some people would call an easy way. Not having a job like being a part of law enforcement, like his old friends. Even his best pal Ron had a job as a bartender. But Harry, the last of his family line, was a _stripper._

It wasn't easy. Having to deal with entitled people, sickos, perverts, who always try to get something free, who act rude and harsh and drunk. Yes, you can count on drunks being in the bar.

Harry hears a beep, and he sits up, looking at his laptop.

 _A message from SS72,_ the screen says. Harry smiles, opens the chat.

 _SS72: Did you want to meet?_

This guys gets straight to the point. Harry sends out a reply.

 _HJP11: Where and what time?_

 _SS72: My place, tonight, at 11._

 _HJP11: Your place?_

Going to his place sounds dangerous.

 _SS72: How about a diner._

 _HP11: Hogsmeade's diner?_

Hogsmeade was a nice little place, quiet, by he could count on people being around if this guy turns out to be a kidnapper or serial killer. _Beep._ Harry reads the reply.

 _SS72: Sure, see you at 11._

 _SS72 is offline._

Harry smiles to himself and leans back into his bed, before jumping up to pick out clothes. Black shirt? Black pants? Maybe a red shirt and black pants. Should he wear his blazer he pulls out once a year? It's blue, maybe he should wear white under it? Oh, and a shower! And he needs to shave. God, but his shoes are dirty, and his hair unruly. Doesn't he have a shift at nine o'clock?

Shaking his head, Harry grabs some clothes and goes to the bathroom, thinking of ways he can get his hair tamed and how he can get out of doing a shift tonight. If this mystery guys turns out to be what he hopes, he could save money to go to the law enforcement academy, and get the he'll out of he business of pleasing old men.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I realized I said 'ten bucks' last chapter, but I don't believe that exists in England. I'm Canadian. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this much awaited chapter! It might be considered long. Still, I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any other books, websites, or merchandise connected to the series, besides this fanfiction.

* * *

 **Money Snake**

Dressed in a blue blazer with white pants and shirt, Harry enters the diner. It's not a high end place, but people usually pay no mind to everyone else, so it's perfect. Public enough in case this man turns out to be a serial killer. Quiet enough to have some privacy. The food and drinks are good. Harry searches for the corner, where more message with SS72 let him know that his awaited 'date' would be waiting in one corner.

Ironically, he catches the eye of Lucius Malfoy, who is sitting in one corner. Dread fills him. Harry quickly searches the other corners, but they are either occupied by friends and family, or empty. Shit. Panic makes his hands shake, so slowly he approaches the father of his high school nemesis.

Harry lets out an unsure noise. Lucius looks up from his book, eyeing him up, measuring him with cold eyes. Then he scowls.

"SS72?" Harry says. Lucius blinks.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Harry says, quickly turning away, right into the body of a taller gentlemen. He looks up to see a man with black hair, pitch as night, and equally dark eyes. His lips were rather long, but the bottom one was full. His jaw and eyes are tense, hard. Harry takes a step back instinctively.

"SS72," the man says. Harry swallows.

"Oh," Harry says, and the man smiles, as though he's used to people being speechless in his wake. Harry straightens up, narrowing his eyes. "HJP11."

"Nice to meet you. My friend Lucius is here to drive. My butler is busy," he says. Harry swallows.

"You want to go on a drive?"

"I'm not asking you to come on a drive with me," the man says, moving to sit down. He seems to hesitate, then moves to open a chair and extend a hand out to Harry. "I simply said he is my driver."

Harry sits down, lets the man put his seat in. He knows he should be the one dining on this man, but he is so surprised, and impressed by this older fellow. He is handsome, not pudgy or old as Harry envisioned. Why, this kind of man could very well land any young wife or husband. And he has money. Yes, any person would love to be with this gentlemen, if you think about looks and money, and not love itself.

Is this man loving? Will he be rough in bed? Harry crosses on leg over the other and leans back, trying to look more appealing. As though his skinny, small body could compete with this man's athleticism. But didn't gay man love twinks?

Why, the only thing he knew about relationships was porn! Harry blushes at this thought.

"Let's get straight to it," the man says. He looks at Lucius. "Leave us."

"Sir," the man says, standing. He leans over to SS72. "This man is James Potter's boy."

SS72 frowns, but just waves Lucius away. Then he fixes his smile on Harry.

"Is there something wrong with my parentage?" Harry asks, a bit insulted. He feels like a chicken on display. "I think that, despite parentage, people are their own people. Not their parents."

"You are quite right," he says. Leaning back and resting his hands in a relaxed clasp. Harry smiles and looks down, then back up. "You confound me."

"Why?" Harry asks.

"You sit there, looking shy, but your ideas are well formed," SS72 says. "Were you abused?"

"What a thing to ask!" Harry says. The man smiles and tilts his head, licking his lower lip slowly, eyes distant, as though he's envisioning… something. Harry looks down again, his face heating up.

"It's quite simple. I don't want drama," the man says. Harry shakes his head.

"Drama is a part of life."

"Not my life."

"And what is your life?" Harry asks, looking back up into those dark eyes that threaten to stab him with their glare. SS72 leans forward.

"I am a wealthy man, looking for someone to hang off my shoulder. But you simply won't do," he says, and Harry feels himself flush.

"I'm not a… no. I am," Harry says, realization dawns on him. He signed up for this. To be whatever the buyer wants. So Harry straightens his back. "I am ten times better than anyone else, and more better than… Lucius."

"You imply Lucius is hanging off my arm as well?" SS72 says. Harry quickly shakes his head. "Please. As if I would bed such a sibmissive, hungry power man."

"Aren't you?"

"Am I?" SS72 smiles. Harry looks away again, then back at him, noticing the slight lines in his forehead, probably from stress or worry.

"I think this date is over," Harry says softly. He stands, and SS72 remains seated. "Have a good day, SS72."

"You never told me your name," the man says. Harry shakes his head. "But I know you're Harry Potter."

Harry looks at him, but the man doesn't seem to give away any thoughts on his angelic, manly face. Harry moves to retreat to the exit, but the man grabs his hand and places a piece of paper in his hand.

"Look at it outside," the man says. Harry quickly moves, and once outside, he sees a lovely black hair, expensive, a mercedes, and Lucius stands by it, with a smoke in his mouth. THarry watches him, Lucius watches back, Harry turns on his heel and walks away. The evening is dark now, and clouds block out the stars. Harry opens the paper.

There is a phone number, along with a hefty bill of money. Harry snorts and keeps walking.

He had come, he had seen, he had left. Very simple. But the man left a taste in the mouth of his soul. Harry stares at his feet as he walks, remembering his godfather's warnings about looking where you are going. He thinks of SS72, the man with a perfect face and spectacular clothing, a high end job… Harry feels envious. He doesn't have a job. He isn't even sure what he wants to be.

It was as though there was some unwritten fate for him. He doesn't fit into any job, and work, any office cubicle or even on the streets as a businessman. Maybe he is meant to live on the streets, and not in a smart way.

He passes by a man who begs for money. Harry looks at him, his sallow face, bright blue eyes, wrinkled skin. Harry smiles and hands over the bill. Then water splashes up on the both of them.

Harry turns to see the Mercedes passing by. The water wets the homeless man, and he scrambles into his jacket, searching for something. He pulls out a cheap photograph, now turning into messy ink. He just sits there, staring.

Harry swallows, and walks quickly away, watching the Mercedes itself going farther and farther away. Harry glances back at the homeless man, then sighs and goes back.

"Do you need a place to stay?" Harry asks. The man looks up at him, his bright eyes seem to turn brighter with the smile on his face. "Come with me."

They walk to Harry's together, and Harry tries to get a feel for the man, asking him questions. Where do you live? Why are you begging? You can borrow my clothes, I have some extras. And you need a shower too.

"Of course, of course," the man says. He is old, deep creases in his oily face. "Just when I was thinking of giving up. You're a great man."

Harry doesn't say anything. The man tells him of a great story.

"There were three of us," he says, "Two brothers, and an angel-sister. She was lovely. She was the baby. There was nothing, nothing at all we wouldn't do. We had wealth too, so we could afford anything. And it was me who brought the wealth to our feet.

"My best friend, my lover, he insisted we invest it, grow a business. And we did. Eventually, we made a casino. A beautiful casino, with lovely woman and men, and high end people came from all over. It was just out of town. People loved it, loved us. My partner, we were a great team, we made smart moves, and we were diligent, and maybe evil in our outlandish spending. I tell you, boy, the men came in their best suits, and the woman permed their hair and joined us in a high class society, all of us spending or making moves, all of us in sin.

"Then, I decided I didn't want it. Things started to happen, you see. A dead body here, a dead body there. I told my partner that if he didn't stop what he was doing, then I would."

Harry listens with silence. It sounds too ridiculous to be true. No, these were the ravings of a homeless man, and insane man.

"Eventually, I pulled out my funding. So my partner came to my home and threatened me for it. My sister, she went mad. She fought him. She screamed at him, my beautiful sister who wouldn't hit anyone or anything. They fought, and he revealed the terrible things I did. She suffered a heart attack. It was my sin that caused her to die."

The man goes silent. Harry continuously looks at him, hoping he will go on. And he does.

"I went travelling. All over the world. I seen elephants and giraffes. And followed tigers in India. I didn't hunt, because I couldn't bear anymore death. But I did see. I watched. I helped find a panda that went missing from an enclosure. And I road boats in the Caribbean. Anything, anything to get away from my home, from my dead home.

"Eventually, I ran out of money, so I came here, back home, and begged my partner to take me back. But he turned away. He shunned me. He said, 'I will kill you, if you don't leave now!' So I left! I left everything behind, and this, this is all I am now. This is who you see."

We had reached my apartment, so we stood outside, and I stared at this man. Though he spoke his words with vicious power, he looked calm. He was standing straight, and I notice his blackened jacket was once blue, decorated with stars. Why, it was a rich suit before. Harry feels pity for the man.

"I will be kicked out soon," Harry says, "But you can come in. I will help you."

"I just need rest, and good company," the man says, "I won't stay long. There is nowhere I can stay long."

They go inside, and the man showers. Harry picks out his godfather's suit, a black one, with a bright blue shirt. Surely, the man will appreciate it. He must like blue. So, Harry lays it on his bed, then goes to the kitchen to cook a meal. There is a knocking at the front door.

Harry goes to open it, finding his landlord.

"I need the money now. You're way too behind," she says. Harry swallows.

"I will have it later tonight," Harry lies. She nods and leaves. Harry looks around his small living space. He won't have the money. What will he do? Now he will be like the homeless man. On the streets, pitiful, raving about a fake past and fake stories about how lavishly he used to live. Harry shakes his head and walks around the apartment, then goes to knock on the bathroom door.

"Yes?" the man says. Harry swallows.

"How long will you be in there?"

"Just a while. I'm having a bath," the man replies. Harry grunts in approval, then goes to walk around, pacing, chewing his thumbnail. There is one, one option that will keep him afloat.

He pulls the paper from his pocket and phones SS72.

"Hello?" someone says. Harry swallows.

"It's the man you med in Hogsmeade."

"Ah. Harry Potter," the man says, then chuckles, making Harry feel like a kid. He straightens.

"You know I only messaged you for money," Harry says.

"I do."

"I need it now."

"Greedy," the man sighs. "Very well. I can drop some off. Where are you?"

Harry gives him the address as he walks in circles, looking at the messy apartment. Messy, despite what little things he owns. The man announces he will be there soon, and Harry hangs up.

And Harry realizes he didn't ask what the man's price would be.

He walks in circles, glancing at the time. His guest may have to leave. Or, he can get SS72 to take them somewhere else. Then again, SS72 didn't mention the two of them doing something, so maybe Harry can get away with doing nothing. Angry, he tosses the phone onto the ground. What an idiot! Of course, nothing is for free. No one else has his eagerness to help. Harry sits on the couch and clasps his hands together.

Find. When his homeless guests leaves the bathroom, he can lead SS72 to the bathroom. Then, they can do whatever SS72 wants to. Or, better yet, they can leave the apartment all together. No, that's a bad idea, Harry doesn't want to leave the homeless man alone in his apartment. Who knows what might happen.

The clock strikes twelve. Harry waits, and waits, and soon he can hear loud water noises in the bathroom, and footsteps. So, the man is done. Harry looks at the clock again, and the phone rings.

Harry picks it up.

"I'm outside."

"One moment," Harry says, and he presses the buzzer button. The line clicks, and he tosses the phone onto the couch. He looks up at the bathroom, and right on time, the door opens. Out steps the homeless man, his beard trimmed with the scissors Harry gave him, the hair on top brushed back into a ponytail. The suit is a bit skinny around his waist, so the jacket isn't closed, and the shirt is a bit tight. But boy, does he make such a better appearance.

"I have someone coming over," Harry says. The man nods.

"Should I take my leave?"

"No! He will be coming up," Harry says. The man sits at the couch, and Harry puts a bowl of food in front of him. The man eats daintily, slowly, savoring every bite. Harry walks around in circles, and there is commanding knocking a the door.

Harry opens it to see SS72, hair brushed back with some oil, his black suit with a green tie bright and shiny.

Harry steps aside to let him in.

"I am certainly surprised to see you," SS72 says, "But I knew you would phone."

"Knew? Or hoped?" Harry forces a smile. SS72 smiles back, then he looks at the homeless man, whose blue eyes look at SS72.

"Riddle," the homeless man says. Harry frowns, and looks at his new guest. SS72's skin starts to turn red, his jaw take on a cutting harshness, his upper lips curls back to reveal snarling teeth.

"Dumbledore," SS72 hisses, "How lovely."

"You two know each other?" Harry asks. SS72 laughs and stalks toward Dumbledore.

"Know each other? He was my enemy!" SS72 says, "He drove my father's business into the ground, which lead him to desert me and my mother. She, of course, deserted me too! All because of him!"

SS72 points a godly finger as Dumbledore, who quickly stands.

"It's not my fault your parents were incompetent. Please, let me make amends-"

"Amends?" Ss72 scowls and steps forward, towering over Dumbledore. "You insult my parents, and further insult them by offering a peace treaty?!"

"Calm down," Harry orders, but both men don't seem to hear.

"It was a mistake. I'm sorry," Dumbledore says, and SS72 laughs, lifting a fist threateningly.

"You left me in an orphanage! And you threatened! You threatened me to never tell your secret!" SS72 says.

"You are as inviting as ever," Dumbledore says, a dark commanding tone in his voice. His sky blue eyes seem to cloud over with thunder and rain.

"His secret-," SS72 says, spreading his arms, "-is that Grindelwald, my competitor, raped his sister! And Dumbledore lied to the police, and said she was just insane!"

Harry feels his mouth drop open. He didnt' expect family drama would be the menu for tonight. He steps forward, wanting to stop this before it turns into a fight.

"To Hell with you," Dumbledore says quietly. "To Hell with you."

"There it is!" SS72 says. "You wear the face of a senile, kind man. You are a viper. And I know vipers."

Dumbledore looks at Harry helplessly.

"Finally, justice has been done. I have found you. I will see you in jail," SS72 shouts. He grabs Dumbledore's suit, by the shoulder, and Dumbledore tries to pull away, and soon they are playing tug-of-war. Harry steps forward and tries to pull SS72 away, and pushes Dumbledore on the couch, but they all fall down, on top of each other, and then SS72 is shouting curses in Dumbledore's face. And then just a suddenly, Dumbledore shouts.

Or screams. It was a long noise, more of a howl. SS72 immediately backs away, still snarling curses. Dumbledore clutches his chest, howling some more, and then his eyes close, his arms go slack, and he falls off the couch onto the floor.

Harry looks at SS72, who is gasping. Harry covers his mouth.

"You killed him," Harry whispers. SS72 frantically shakes his head.

"I didn't! He was old, it was a heart attack. The doctor will testify."

"You killed him," Harry repeats. SS72 grabs his shoulders.

"Remain calm. Where's your phone?" SS72 looks around and grabs the phone tossed onto the couch, and makes the call. Harry looks at the dead man on the floor.

He starts to do compressions. And breathing into Dumbledore's nose. But it doesn't seem to do any good, the body starts to get cold. Harry notices his hair is still wet from the bath. Tears form, and soon Harry is coughing and sobbing. Strong hands pull him away from the body.

"Calm. Keep calm. Everything will be okay."

Harry looks up at SS72, and he wipes his eyes and looks back at the body.

"'I never got your name," Harry says weakly.

There is a knock at the door, and SS72 goes to open it, and in come paramedics, where they try to resuscitate the man, but it doesn't work. They load him up anyways and take him to the hospital, and they ask Harry questions but he can't' really answer, so SS72 answers for them. SS72 leads Harry to the hall quickly, and Harry leans on the wall and sobs. SS72 offers no more comfort.

"Riddle," SS72 says. Harry looks up, frowning, for this was the same word Dumbledore said before… god was he really dead? "My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle."

The explanation might as well have fallen on deaf ears.


End file.
